


Narrative Structure

by riyku



Series: Skam Sunday [11]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: M/M, Porn, basically just porn, more porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:14:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riyku/pseuds/riyku
Summary: Sometimes, they just fuck.





	Narrative Structure

**Author's Note:**

> oh dear, the summary. i should just own it. this is me, owning it.
> 
> i still love tebtosca, and still haven't figured out why she puts up with me.
> 
> happy sunday, my lovelies!

Sometimes, they just fuck. It doesn't mean that they love each other any less. Not in that moment. Not in all the moments that come after. Never.

They have one of those to the stars and back, I'll hold your hand as you walk through fire kinda things. They're in each other's blood and bones. Crack one of them open and you'll find the other one there. 

But that's for another story, one that doesn't start with Isak on his hands and knees, face smashed down against the floor, belly full of top notch, home grown DNA, chin and throat slick with it. One that doesn't start with Even already three fingers deep in Isak's ass, enough lube that it's dripped down to his balls, holding him open for his come-stained tongue to fit inside.

There's no poetry in the way Even eats him out, the desperate, starving sounds he makes, the gasping sighs when he comes up for air and gets right back to it. Long, flat swipes from Isak's sac to the base of his spine. Down again, zeroing in on Isak's rim, a sucking, loud kiss that makes Isak arch his back, almost crack a tooth on the floor. Even slides a finger in beside his tongue, another, curls them and rubs at Isak's sweet spot and now Isak's seeing stars. Entire solar systems. Infinite galaxies.

So maybe there's a little poetry in it after all.

Even pulls back, lightly smacks Isak's hip and tells him to flip over and Isak does, sweaty back sticking to the floor, arms and legs sprawled as crooked as busted up doll parts. Isak stops Even's forward drop with a foot on his chest, toes digging into his collarbone, thigh muscles standing out, gives himself a chance to catch his breath. Even has a better idea. He always has the best ideas, and takes Isak by the ankle, kisses his instep, dances his fingertips along the inside of Isak's leg, ankle to thigh to cut of his hip and finally his dick.

A few sure, quick tugs and Isak loses track of why he was trying to slow Even down in the first place, can't figure out why Even isn't on top of him, weighing him down, biting his lips, making him choke on his fingers or filling his mouth up with his tongue. He needs Even's flat chest against his, needs him to make his ribs ache, push what little air is in his lungs out. He wants to clasp his legs around Even's middle, his arms around his shoulders, bury his fists into Even's sweaty hair and pull on it hard enough to make Even growl, snarl against his lips.

If this is a five-act play, they're half-way through act three, rounding out the epitasis. Closing in on the catastrophe. But forget about rising action and falling action and conflict resolution. It's probably not that kinda story either. 

Isak's insides are begging for Even's dick and so is his mouth, and to think that only a month ago Isak could still call himself a virgin. He's shameless, groaning, nothing coy or shy about it as he pulls Even down, licks the sweat gathered at the base of his throat, kisses his jaw, his cheek and his mouth. Pushes a hand between them to find Even's dick, blood hot, curving and straining against his palm. Isak shoves his hips upward and guides Even inside.

No need to drag the plot out, yank it forward because it's pushing itself along just fine. This thing's on rails.

Even slides in fast, tongue fucks him as he does it, hand pressing against Isak's throat without actual intent. Isak would let him, trusts him entirely. It might make a hell of a sub-plot one day, but again, that's not how this story plays out. Even fills him up, ass and mouth and mostly heart, and Isak's body molds itself around him, reshapes without thought, like he was specifically designed with this particular boy in mind, like the first seventeen years of his life was prologue, time spent building Even-shaped grooves for him to fall into.

It's raw, perfect, the punch of Even's cock so deep and good. Even shoves Isak's leg up over his shoulder and now it's even better, this new angle and lack of air and the way it makes Isak feel him more precisely, each jab of his hips and every single tremor in his bones when he comes, how he keeps going, fucking through the mess he's making of Isak's ass, filthy slaps of skin on skin. Every moan and gasp a dirty little love note until Isak's coming too, nose buried in Even's hair, arms locked around his shoulders.

Later, Even sits the windowsill where they fell in love, silhouetted against a dark sky, face lit by the glow from the occasional drag he takes off of his cigarette. That's their book cover. The denouement. The poster for the inevitable film adaptation.

Skip the swan song. There's no use for a reveal or a last minute reprieve. Even's always been beautiful, and Isak's always seen it.

\--end


End file.
